


Into the breach

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Silmarillion Prompts [29]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Feat. Beleg being hung, Feat. Turin refusing to take it easy, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, No one is surprised, No shame november, Spoilers: Beleg is won over, Student/Mentor Dynamics, prompts from tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beleg and Turin's first time together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the breach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/gifts).



> 0\. It should come as a surprise to no one that this was sath's prompt. <3

“So,” said Túrin gruffly. He cleared his throat as his voice cracked, and tried to shift his tone towards alluringly husky instead of shaky and young. He settled somewhere around consumptive instead. “How do you want to do this?”

It felt like a businesslike question, given that he was naked from the waist down and half sprawled against Beleg’s bedroll. The speed at which he’d shed his leggings and smallclothes was a little embarrassing, and despite the fact that his arousal did not seem to be affected at all by his embarrassment – it was poking him rather demandingly in the stomach, in fact – Túrin had decided not to lose his shirt and tunic. Looking up at Beleg, who was tall, beautiful, and well-built, everything Túrin was not, curse it, he had suddenly become very conscious of how pitiful the muscles in his chest and arms were in comparison to Beleg’s, and he’d kept his shirt on.

But Beleg was looking down at him, his gaze quite warm, and he was reaching for the laces of Túrin’s tunic, not seeming at all to mind Túrin’s still-narrow chest and lean arms. “How do I want to do this?” he repeated softly, working Túrin free of the last of his clothes. “Now there is a question that has haunted my dreams.”

Túrin swallowed, noticing suddenly the impressive swell between Beleg’s legs, still confined by his breeches. His own cock jerked between his legs, as if in acknowledgement. He reached for Beleg’s belt, embarrassment fading, to be replaced by heady, blinding desire and a far more familiar impatience. It was the impatience that had caused Beleg to laugh at him fondly many a time, and ruffle up his hair, and then, inevitably, to concede to his demands for a longer bow, to journey farther afield, to spar without padding, without practice weapons.

Beleg had always laughed at him, and had always acquiesced.  

Now Beleg pulled in a short breath through his nose as Túrin fumbled at the laces of his breeches, a breath that turned into a small laugh as Túrin got stuck on a knot and started cursing. “Here, let me.”

Túrin sat up, naked now thanks to Beleg’s quick hands, as Beleg sat back on his heels and began to undress with brisk, efficient movements.

“How do you want me?” Túrin asked, less wobble in his voice than before. The rasp in it was genuine now, not an affected attempt at seduction, and he could swear that he saw Beleg shiver slightly as color rose along his strong cheekbones. Túrin tried to remember what he knew from half-overheard conversations, and coarse jokes, and started to turn over. “Do you want me on all fours, or – ”

But Beleg laid a hand at his hips, forestalling him. “Sweet as you would look on your knees,” he said, his eyes lingering on Túrin’s thighs and a large hand lightly squeezing Túrin’s buttocks. Túrin tried not to moan at the sensation. “I see no reason why the first time I take you,” he took a deep, unsteady breath that belied his even tone, “why the first time I take you, I should not be able to watch your face.” He lifted his hand and caressed Túrin’s cheek then, and Túrin met him in a kiss as Beleg shrugged free of the last of his clothes, and bore Túrin down to the bedroll, all patience set aside.  

As they embraced, Beleg’s hand roved slowly down Túrin’s waist and then to his groin. He made to touch Túrin gently at first, but Túrin squirmed away from his hand, flushing a deeper shade of red. “No.”

“No?” Beleg pulled away immediately. “Do you not want me to – Let us slow down, then, it is not – ”

“No, I mean,” Túrin glowered, not meeting Beleg’s eyes. “If you, uh, touch me there, it’ll be… It’ll be over too soon.” He swallowed, and to distract himself from Beleg’s dawning understanding, reached for Beleg’s prick. Outside the confines of his breeches, it had grown even more impressive, and Túrin felt his eyes go wide. Fascinated, he wrapped his hand around it – and then, realizing how insufficient this was, he wrapped the other hand around it too. Beleg’s breathing hitched, and Túrin felt a burst of satisfaction. He moved his hands slowly, trying to mimic the motion he was familiar with, and was rewarded by Beleg’s hips jerking forward, and the gathering drops of liquid at the tip of his cock. Túrin licked his lips and bent down to taste them, and Beleg groaned loudly. It was the most unrestrained Túrin had ever heard him, and it was all the encouragement he needed. Eagerly, he tried to take more of Beleg’s cock into his mouth and then his throat, and it was only when he choked that Beleg laid gentle hands on his shoulders and pushed him back.

“Easy,” he said softly. “You are not the only one who does not want this to end too fast. Do you have grease?”

Túrin had always had a fairly singular focus in his moments of self-pleasure, and as such, Beleg’s slick fingers probing behind his balls were nothing short of revelation. Every curse Túrin had ever learned from Gethron and Grithnir was utilized, and then he started in on ones he’d learned from Mablung. Beleg watched him all the while, eyes bright and pleased, his fingers moving steadily into Túrin, seemingly content to ignore his own prominent arousal as he got Túrin ready.

“Hmm,” said Beleg, as Túrin shamelessly shoved himself down on two of his fingers and gabbled something nonsensical. “We are not quite close enough.”

“Beleg, Beleg, I will kill you.” Túrin gasped and tried to pull himself together. He was dripping with sweat, and his cock throbbed hot against his stomach. “Do not make me wait any longer. Please, please, please…”  

“You know I can never say no to you,” murmured Beleg. He pulled his fingers out of Túrin with a sound that should have embarrassed Túrin but just made him even more desperate. “Hush, steady. Now just remember to keep breathing.”

“No, I think I’ll  _forget_  to stop breathing,” snapped Túrin. “Stop being an  _idiot_ , Beleg, and – ” He choked as Beleg shifted his hips and pressed the head of his cock against Túrin’s entrance.

Beleg was breathing slow and deep, but his eyes sparkled as he looked down at Túrin, who was suddenly speechless. “I’m sorry, what was that you were being bratty about?”

“Shut up,” Túrin managed. “ _Aah_.” Beleg had pushed in another tiny amount, and Túrin blinked to keep himself from blacking out.

“Too much?” asked Beleg quietly.

Túrin opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Túrin?” Beleg stroked his cheek gently. “All right, I’m going to pull back now, you’re not open enough.”

“ _No_.” Túrin gritted the word out, and reached forward, fisting a hand in Beleg’s hair. “Keep going.”

“I am  _hurting you_.”

“And I’ll hurt you if you stop.” Túrin pushed his hips forward, and Beleg slid another inch into him. Túrin’s fingers twisted so violently into Beleg’s hair that he pulled some strands out by the roots.

“Son of Húrin, you stubborn fool,” whispered Beleg, who was panting now. “And I a fool as well. I miscalculated. I should not have even considered this for the first time, it is too much for you…”

“Stop underestimating me!”

“This is not about pride, boy, this is about me not wanting to be held responsible for the incapacitation of Thingol’s foster son.”

“You flatter yourself, Strongbow,” said Túrin, who was starting to breathe deeply again, feeling himself adjust to Beleg’s girth. “You speak as if you are somehow impressive.”

Beleg rolled his eyes. “Self-praise has naught to do with it, ‘tis an acceptance of fact. I have been in barracks and sweat rooms; I know how I measure up. And for someone who has never before been taken – ” He let out an exclamation as Túrin pushed himself forward again. “Valar all damn, do you wish to martyr yourself?”

“Shut up,” whispered Túrin, and surged forward to kiss Beleg hard, his teeth catching on his lip. “Shut up and fuck me, Elf.”

“I am going to regret this,” murmured Beleg, laying Túrin gently back down against the bedroll, and settling his hips between Túrin’s trembling thighs. “ _You_  are going to regret this.” But he kissed Túrin again, and pushed forward once more until he was fully sheathed in Túrin’s body.

“You’re wrong,” said Túrin, closing his eyes and burying his face in Beleg’s shoulder as the sweat rolled off him and the pain blazed electric and perfect. “I could never regret anything to do with you.”


End file.
